Her shoulders sank, every ounce of her previous pride and excitement evaporating. Perhaps the message he’d received was important and his departure could not be helped. But was it so important that he couldn’t have spared a single minute to bid her adieu? Or had he forgotten her the moment the note arrived? Was she little more than an afterthought that had instantly slipped his mind?
What a simpleton I am.
Forcing a smile, she gazed at Mallory. “Shall we sing and play another?”
Grinning, Mallory agreed.
Choking down the rest of the wine in her glass, Claire prepared to make merry—even if it killed her.
Chapter 5
“Where is he?” Edward demanded nearly two hours later, as he stepped out of the frosty March night into a room that was scarcely warmer than the outdoors in spite of the coals burning in the grate.
The senior officer on duty snapped to attention, having clearly been expecting his visit. “This way, Your Grace,” he said in a moderate tone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the cell.”
With a nod, Edward let the other man lead the way. Their booted footsteps rang loudly against the rough stones that paved the interior of the military prison located nearly twenty miles southeast of London. Dark and drafty, the edifice was foreboding to say the least, light from the lantern the officer carried casting eerie shadows against the heavy granite walls. Despite the prison’s bleak atmosphere and lack of amenities, Edward knew that it was luxurious compared to the overcrowded squalor and depravity of places like Newgate, where the gaolers preyed upon prisoners and the prisoners on each other.
They walked down a long hallway, past cells housing soldiers incarcerated for a variety of crimes. With a rattling of keys, the officer opened a heavy iron door that led into a separate section of the gaol.
“This is where we keep the special ones,” the man said. “Those interned for high crimes and activities against the state. He’s just down here.” A few yards later, the officer stopped, then used his key again to unlock a thick wooden door.
Swinging it wide, he pointed toward the figure lying on a narrow bed in one corner of the room, a woollen blanket pulled high over the man’s form. There wasn’t much else in the six-by-eight cell except for a slop bucket and another that held a couple inches of water. An odour of despair and old sweat permeated the space, overlain by a more pungent, almost sweetly metallic scent that signalled something of a far more sinister nature.
Approaching the bed, Edward reached for the blanket and pulled it back. There, lying on his back with his blond hair tangled around his classically featured face, was Lord Everett. Were it not for the knife sticking out of his slender chest and the huge congealing bloodstain that accompanied it, one might have imagined him to be sleeping.
“How long ago did you find him?” Edward asked, studying the body of the man who had been known in espionage circles as Le Renard.
“Just after dinner rounds. When he didn’t take his meal, we came in to check and discovered him like this.”
“And you presume he was murdered? He couldn’t have come into possession of a knife and done this on his own?”
The officer shook his head. “No, Your Grace. We search the cells every few days for contraband and such. Besides, Everett wasn’t the sort who would have taken his own life. Too much of a coward, if you ask me. He may have been called a hero once, but he was nothing but a filthy traitor.”
A filthy traitor indeed, Edward thought. A liar and a spy for the French, who had once tortured Cade nearly to death. Because of Everett, his brother would endure a limp and other physical scars for the rest of his days. If not for the fierce devotion of Cade’s beloved wife, Edward feared Cade might never have been able to get past the emotional scars he’d carried as well. Thank God for Meg.
The officer was right, though. Everett had been too much of a coward to have killed himself. So who had done the deed in his stead?
As for why, that much was obvious. Everett had information, secrets the British government had been working hard to pry out of him for over a year now. Only recently had he begun to talk. Apparently whoever had done this hadn’t cared for Everett’s newly loosened tongue.
“Nonetheless, he was a potentially useful traitor,” Edward said in response to the officer’s last remark. “One who might have given us further valuable information if he was still alive. So, if the knife wasn’t his, then whose is it? Did he have any visitors today?”
“None. Weren’t many who came to see him as a rule and no one in the past couple of months. He was completely alone in here, Your Grace.”
Edward raised a brow. “Apparently not completely, since at some point today someone entered his cell and stabbed him to death. Someone, I might add, who obviously had access to not only the cell, but the key, if what you say is correct.”
The soldier blanched and cast a frowning look at the keys in his hand. “None of my men would do such a thing.”
“Perhaps you don’t know your men as well as you think. When is the last time Everett was seen alive?”
“This morning, I believe. One of the guards mentioned that Everett was complaining about not being allowed to have a newspaper to read.”
“Then I’ll want the name of everyone who’s been in and out of this building since this morning. And I do mean everyone, from your colonel down to the lowliest raw recruit. Civilians, government officials, even the boy who comes by to empty the slops.”
The officer nodded.
“I want to see if they noticed anything out of the ordinary, or anyone coming in and out of this section of the prison. Are the men who were on duty this morning still here?”
“A few, yes.”
“Good. Find them, then locate the rest, especially the guard who traded words with Everett this morning. I want to question him and the others personally. I presume you can find a room where I may talk to these men?”
“Of course. Everything shall be done as you ask.”
“Good.”
Instead of leaving, the officer hesitated. “Um, what shall we do with the body?”
Edward’s gaze turned toward Everett. “It’s cold enough that I imagine you can leave him right where he is for now. We’ll need to inspect his clothes and any possessions he may have accumulated. Once that’s done, notify his family. I assume they’ll want to give him a decent burial despite his crimes.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. I shall see to it myself.”
“Very good. Now, that room, if you please, and something hot to drink. Order drinks for yourself and the men as well. I expect it’s going to be a long night.”
The next morning, Claire helped herself to a spoonful of scrambled eggs, a rasher of bacon and a slice of toast from the breakfast buffet laid out on a long sideboard in the family dining room.
Already seated at the table were Mallory and the twins—Lords Leopold and Lawrence—who were digging with obvious gusto into the mountain of food heaped upon their plates. Lord Drake, as Claire knew, would not be joining them, since he had returned last night to the bachelor’s quarters he kept across Town. As for the duke, she had no idea where he was. She didn’t even know if he was in the house or still out attending to whatever had called him away so precipitously last evening. Claire’s mouth tightened briefly before she made her way to the table, the skirts of her cream-coloured muslin gown whispering against her legs as she moved.
Moments after she made herself comfortable, Mallory passed her the butter and jams. “The marmalade is quite divine and the strawberry preserves as well. I’d have some of both now, if I were you, before someone else decides their dozen slices of toast haven’t been sufficiently anointed with sweets.”
The twins kept eating, neither of them rising to their sister’s bait. Although Leo paused—at least Claire thought it was Leo—long enough to give her a wink before returning to his meal.
“Thank you for the advice,” Claire said, smiling as she took a small spoonful of eac
h. A footman appeared at her elbow and filled her teacup before withdrawing with silent efficiency.
“I was thinking after breakfast that we ladies might go shopping,” Mallory said. “The Season is nearly upon us and there is your new wardrobe to be chosen and ordered.”
Claire laid down her fork. “Oh, I would love to, but I’m afraid Mama is having one of her megrims and will not be able to accompany us. She is in her room now, taking nothing more than a biscuit and tea.”
Mallory’s gaze deepened with concern. “Oh, I am most sorry to hear she is unwell. I shall have a lavender compress sent to her right away.” With a nod to one of the footmen, she dispatched the servant to see to the matter.
Taking up her fork again, Claire cut her piece of bacon in half. “Mayhap she will feel better tomorrow and we can go then.”
“Go where tomorrow and who is feeling ill?” inquired a rich, resonant voice that could belong to only one man in the world.
Glancing up, Claire watched the duke stride into the room. Briefly, she forgot herself, struck by his beauty and the undeniable impact of his presence. In a single instant he dominated the room, invisible energy swirling around him that bespoke of his innate power and pride.
Clearly, he’d just come from the services of his valet. His mahogany hair was brushed neatly back from his handsome face, the ends still faintly damp from his bath. His cheeks were freshly shaven and a crisp white linen cravat was tied around his neck. He’d chosen to wear Prussian blue today, the shade that was nearly a match for his penetrating eyes. Pausing next to the dining table, he turned those eyes upon everyone assembled and waited for an answer to his query.
Claire decided to go first. “My mother is indisposed this morning,” she explained, “which means that Mallory and I will have to delay our shopping excursion until later.”
“I am sorry to hear of your mother’s illness, Lady Claire. Shall I send for the physician to attend her?”
“Oh no, it is only one of her megrims. We have found there is very little to be done except to close the drapes and let her sleep. She will be better anon.”
He nodded. “Should you change your mind, you have only to say.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
His dark brows drew together.
“Edward,” she corrected in a soft voice.
An approving smile curved his mouth. “Good morning, by the way. I hope you slept well.”
“Quite well.”
After a moment, he gave a nod, then crossed to the buffet.
“You didn’t ask how I slept,” Lawrence called out in a teasing singsong.
Edward paused in the act of serving himself. “No,” he replied without turning around, “I did not. But if it was anything per your usual, then you slept like the dead while sawing several cords of wood.”
“I don’t snore!” Lawrence defended. “At least not unless I’m in my cups.”
His twin choked out a laugh and slapped his sibling on the back. With a shrug, Lawrence grinned, then once again applied himself to his meal.
Edward, his plate filled with a hearty, yet more moderate portion than his brothers, slipped into the chair at the head of the table, Claire on his right.
One of the footmen immediately appeared to fill his cup. He also placed a silver salver containing a neatly ironed copy of the Morning Post not far from the duke’s elbow. “About this shopping expedition,” Edward said, “where were you planning to go?”
“To the linen draper and the mantua maker,” Mallory said. “For Claire’s trousseau.”
He swallowed a mouthful of eggs and ham, then patted his lips with his napkin. “Ah yes, the trousseau.” His gaze moved to Claire. “I assume Mallory told you that you are to select whatever you require.”
“She did, yes,” Claire replied. “It is most generous of you, Your Grace.”
He ate another bite of breakfast, his expression thoughtful. “I can see no reason why Lady Edgewater must accompany you,” he continued. “Unless you expressly require her opinion.”
“I value Mama’s opinion, of course,” Claire said, “but I have been choosing my own wardrobe for quite some while now.”
“Then you and Mallory must go as planned. One of the twins can accompany you. I’m sure they’ll prove useful carrying bandboxes and such.”
Two golden brown heads jerked up at the same moment.
“Go dress shopping?” Leo complained.
“Carry bandboxes?” Lawrence said, the set of his rigid shoulders mirroring those of his twin.
“You know, Ned,” stated Leo, “we do have plans of our own.”
“Cancel them.” Edward took another leisurely drink of his coffee. “I’m sure there’ll be another boxing mill in a day or two.”
Lawrence laid down his fork. “Not like this one. Hammer Hollands is fighting and I have five guineas on the outcome.”
“And I’ve laid down ten,” Leo added.
“One of your cronies can collect your winnings, assuming you didn’t back the wrong man. Of course only one of you is required to escort Mallory and Lady Claire. The other can still go to the match.”
Both young men crossed their arms over their chests.
“Wouldn’t seem right for one of us to go without the other,” Leo said.
“We’ll both give the ladies our assistance,” Lawrence agreed.
“Good, that’s settled then,” Edward said, cutting into a kipper this time. He glanced over at Claire. “I would accompany you myself,” he said, “but I am afraid I have pressing matters that cannot wait.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “I understand.”
Briefly, their gazes met.
The duke frowned.
“However, I would be pleased to accompany you to the theatre this evening,” he said. “If you would enjoy the outing?”
Claire frowned this time.
“Hamlet is being performed, I believe.”
Hamlet, she thought. How apropos, with the tragic Ophelia dying from her unrequited love. But it’s not as if I’m in any danger of drowning myself in the Thames, is it?
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied in a soft tone. “An evening at the theatre sounds like a most excellent plan.”
“Here are the newest pattern books arrived only this morning, ladies,” Madame Morelle, London’s most fashionable mantua maker, said later that day as she handed them the volumes. “I expect you shall find several selections to tempt you. And of course we can make any alterations you wish, so that each dress is unique and exclusively your own.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Mallory said from where she sat next to Claire on a very comfortable rose velvet divan. “You are always most kind. As I told you, we are here today to shop for Lady Claire’s trousseau. She is in need of nearly everything, so please don’t hesitate to offer suggestions.”
“Not everything,” Claire corrected in a hushed tone. “I have several attractive gowns that I brought with me from home.”
“Of course your gowns are lovely,” Mallory agreed with quiet sincerity. “But even you must admit they’re not in the first stare of fashion. As Edward’s affianced, you’ll be expected to be on the cusp of the latest styles.”
Madame Morelle agreed with a sage nod. “And I feel sure if Her Grace, the dowager duchess, were here, she would advise the same.”
Would she? Claire mused. Perhaps I ought to refuse the new wardrobe and shame Edward by wearing my shabby, out-of-date gowns? But then she remembered her own mother and knew such a ploy would never succeed. Her shoulders slumped.
“Why don’t I give you ladies a few minutes to look over those sketches,” Madame Morelle said, “then I shall return so we can consult.”
As she turned, the older woman’s gaze moved across the room, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I see your two younger brothers have accompanied you today, Lady Mallory.”
“Yes. They’re acting as our escorts, since Lady Claire’s mother was indisposed,” Mallory told her.
�
��Your family members are always most welcome and I shall see they are kept replete with refreshments.” Chin up, she sailed across the room. As she did, a girlish laugh floated in the air. Only then did Claire notice that one of the shop’s young assistants was talking to the twins, the girl’s cheeks flushed and her eyes bright from whatever flirtatious remarks were being showered upon her.
Madame made a tsking noise. “Sally, there are ladies in need of your attention. I shall see to their lordships now. You may go.”
Pinking again, this time with alarm, the girl bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. Moments after she did, Lords Leo and Lawrence turned their combined charms on Madame and soon had her cheeks glowing girlishly and her eyes twinkling as well.
Irrepressible, Claire thought.
Returning her attention to the matter at hand, she began looking at the fashions. Every page held a new delight, each design more beautiful than the next. “They’re all so pretty,” she confessed. “I don’t know how I’ll ever choose. Which one are you getting?”
Mallory shot her a rueful glance. “Me? Oh, I’d love to get several, but I fear I exceeded my quota after I first arrived in Town. When Edward got the bill for this Season’s dresses, steam practically rolled out of his ears. I thought little horns would sprout on his head he was so cross. He told me I was forbidden to buy another frock until my next allowance or he’d confiscate every dress and pack me off home.”
Pausing, Mallory gave her a confidential little smile. “Of course Ned wouldn’t really make good on his threat. But then again, you never know, so it’s best not to push. Besides, my new allowance comes due mid-month, which means I’ve only a couple weeks left before I can buy more.” She tapped a finger against one cheek. “Perhaps I should order something today and ask Madame to delay the delivery until after the fifteenth! Oh, you are brilliant, Claire!”
At The Duke's Pleasure Page 7